


Unsteady

by Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff



Series: Everything is not as it seems [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Bitter, Friends being supportive, Friendship, Gen, Mental Illness, Panic Attacks, pent up anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff/pseuds/Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff
Summary: To the surrounding beat reporters, and to the outside world, it looks like Willy’s just taking a frustrated sigh rather than attempting to quell the panic attack stirring inside of him.





	Unsteady

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out I have a lot of pent up anger about my own anxiety that I projected onto Willy?
> 
> Unedited and unbeta'd because I wrote this in an hour. 
> 
> As always, I try to make everything as realistic as possible, the panic attacks are detailed so you have been warned :)
> 
> Also, I counted 30 F-bombs in this which is a new record (yay me). 
> 
> Enjoy :)

*

 

_Bup-bup-bupbup-bup-bup_

Willy’s heart thumps heavily in his chest. He feels his lungs constrict and the pit of his stomach churn unsteadily. He takes a deep breath to try and calm himself down. To the surrounding beat reporters, and to the outside world, it looks like Willy’s just taking a frustrated sigh rather than attempting to quell the panic attack stirring inside of him.

 

“We tried our best out there but it obviously wasn’t enough,” He spouts to the random reporter who asked him some bullshit question.

 

God, he really needs to get the fuck out of here.

 

*

 

“You okay Willy?” Kappy asks him as soon as he steps onto the bus.

                                                                 

Willy just sighs, the uneasiness in his stomach has settled but still lingers underneath his skin.

 

“Just sick of the fucking media.”

 

“Aren’t we all.”

 

*

 

So, Willy has anxiety. He’s had it since he was thirteen and would spend hours curled up under his bed covers or on the bathroom floor struggling to breathe and feeling like he was honest-to-God dying. His parent’s found out after a particularly nasty one he’d had at school and that was that, he was off to a therapist who wanted to work through the “root of the problem.” As if Willy had to have a reason to be panicking or to be anxious every fucking second of the day.

 

“Maybe it’s the stress of hockey,” She suggested.

 

Absolutely-fucking-not was it the stress of hockey. The truth is Willy just panics for no fucking reason because his brain is a piece of shit. Plain and simple.

 

He’s not bitter about it. (Spoiler: he fucking is because it’s a fucking bitch to deal with).

 

*

 

Babcock pulls Willy aside on the first day of training camp to talk about it.

 

“We take stuff like this seriously Willy and I want you to know that you can talk to anyone if you need to. Don’t keep it all in, we can’t help you if we don’t know,” Babs says.

 

Okay. It’s nice that the head coach actually gives a shit about mental illness and understand what it’s like but seriously? Willy’s not about to burst into tears or collapse into a panic attack in the middle of a game. His anxiety doesn’t work like that.

Not that he says that to Babs.

 

“Yeah, thanks coach,” Willy says, instead.

 

Babcock just nods and skates back out onto the ice.

 

*

 

The first time a teammate sees Willy having a panic attack, is when he’s the last one in the locker room after a particularly gruelling training session.

 

His vision blurs, and he feels himself collapsing back into his stall.

 

_Bup-bup-bupbup-bup-bup_

There goes Willy’s fucking heart, trying to beat its way out of his chest. He’s finding it hard to breathe and so he rests his head into his hands and tries to focus on slowing his breaths down.

 

“Fuck! Willy, man, are you alright?” He hears someone yell to him, he’s not sure who it is yet.

 

And Willy doesn’t have the energy to look up and see who it is but whoever they are, they’re kneeling in front of him with their hands on his knees and trying to get him to take deep breaths in time with their counting.

 

“Deep breath Willy, 1, 2, 3, 4, and out…”

 

Fucking hell.

 

Willy feels his breathing finally slow down and his heart steadies to a low thrum in his chest.

 

He keeps his head in his hands for a few more seconds in an attempt to compose himself before he looks up and come face to face with Auston Fucking Matthews.

 

Auston’s hair is falling into his face and he’s got this really worried look on his face – like he’s constipated or something.

 

“A-are you okay now?” Auston asks, tentatively.

 

“No thanks to you,” Willy replies a little too aggressively.

 

It forces Auston off guard and now he looks even more constipated.

 

“Dude, you were leaning over in your stall, fucking gasping for air. What the fuck was I supposed to do, huh? Auston argues back. “Do I look like a fucking doctor?”

 

“Fuck off Matts.”

 

 

*

 

Matts does not fuck off at all. Instead he hovers around Willy for the next week before Willy finally gives in and talks to him.

 

“I thought I told you to fuck off,” Will says to Auston as he pulls him outside the locker room.

 

Auston sighs but doesn’t break eye contact with him.  


“I walked in on you panicking like crazy last week, and don’t think I’ve missed all those times when you’ve had the quiet ones in front of everyone,” Auston says, raising his eyebrows at him.

 

“And how’d you pick out those?”

 

“You just get really quiet, man, I dunno. And your eyes just really focus on something, and you’re like really out of it, I guess.”

 

Willy nods. Fuck Auston for being an observant little shit.

 

“Willy?”

 

“Yeah, Matts?”

 

“Is it like a thing? Like have you spoken to training staff about it?” Auston asks, cautiously.

 

Willy shrugs.

 

“Management know. I used to get really bad panic attacks when I was younger and then when I was thirteen I just had this awful one at school that lasted for hours and the school had to ring my parents.

 

“Long story short, I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder so sometimes I just panic for no fucking reason or for the stupidest, most trivial things. But it’s more manageable now. What you saw last week rarely happens anymore.” He’s looking down at his feet, refusing to look Auston in the eyes.

 

“Promise I won’t treat you any different then,” Auston smiles. “But if you ever need anything, I’m happy to help you out, okay?”

 

“Thanks Matts.”

 

So, Matts is apparently cool with it. Great. Awesome. It doesn’t stop the fucking anxiety attacks though.

 

*

 

Willy totally fucking jinxed himself when he thought that he’d never have an anxiety attack in the middle of a fucking game. And yet here he is. On his knees, slouched over on the rink trying to catch his breath back.

 

His breath that just won’t come.

 

_He’s not dying._

_He’s not dying._

_He’s not dying._

He absolutely-fucking-is.

 

He can hear the arena quieten and his teammates hover around him.

 

“Oh my God, he can’t fucking breathe.” Someone yells above him.

 

“Is it asthma? Shit I didn’t know Willy has asthma?”

 

No, it’s a fucking panic attack you dumb fuck, Willy wants to say.

 

Except he’s too busy trying to hold the contents of his stomach back because he refuses to be that guy that throws up on the ice.

 

There’s ringing in his ears and his heart is thumping faster than ever. He might actually pass out at this rate.

 

*

 

He does.

 

Pass out that is. He wakes up just as he’s being stretchered off that rink and he tries to open his mouth to tell them that he’s fine, he can go out and play now.

 

Except his body refuses to cooperate with him and instead all he manages is a long drawn out groan.

 

Willy fucking hates his life.

 

The trainers let him go back to the change rooms once he’s been checked over and he shakily makes his way back to there.

 

The trainers watch over him in the locker rooms, as if they’re scared he’s going to pass out on them again. God, he hopes not.

 

Willy’s hands are still shaking as he unties his laces and pulls his gear off. And his breathing is still a little off as he pulls his suit on. He purposefully leaves the tie off because the thought of something around his neck doesn’t sit well with him at the minute.

 

*

 

The boys win the game in regulation for once but the team are a little less rambunctious than they usually are as they enter the locker room. They all tap him on the shoulder as they walk past his stall and Auston takes his seat next to him.

 

“Scored the game winner for you,” He says, bumping into Willy’s shoulder.

 

“Fuck off, you didn’t,” Willy can’t help but laugh.

 

“Maybe you should panic more often, you frightened us into winning.”

 

“I think the fuck not,” Willy giggles and then sighs. “Media’s gonna be shit.”

 

“You know you don’t have to be ashamed of it right?” Auston says.

 

“I’m not ashamed of it, it’s just- “

 

“Just what?”

 

“I don’t want to be seen as weak.”

 

“I think you’re stronger than all of us,” Matts pulls Willy into an awkward sideways hug and ignores the chirping from his teammates as they look over at them both.

 

*

 

Willy faces the media after their morning practice the following day. He’s been prepped on what to say by PR.

 

“It was an anxiety attack after I got knocked off my feet,” He tells them.

 

_Has it happened before?_

“I suffer from anxiety disorder so that’s a pretty big factor into last night.”

 

_Are you afraid it may happen again?_

“Of course I am, but this is the first time it’s happened and hopefully with the right support I can prevent it from happening again.”

 

*

 

Surprisingly, the hockey world takes Willy’s announcement well. And even more surprisingly, he finds himself being sent fan-mail from people who also suffer from anxiety, and meeting fans in the stands or on the streets who tell him he’s an inspiration.

 

So, maybe he’s not weak after all.

 

*

 

He still fucking hates it though.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome and greatly appreciated :)


End file.
